


In The End We'll All Be Okay

by bogfable



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, BPD, Depression, Drabble Collection, Eating Disorders, Eventual Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Healing, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Other, Psych Ward, Suicidal Thoughts, TW for the whole thign, Vignette, mental health unit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogfable/pseuds/bogfable
Summary: An AU of mine (and a friend) that I've been quite hesitant to share.. since it's set in a children's psychiatric hospital.. it's very triggering and i warn you to take the warnings in the tags seriously.Also this is a collection of drabbles..they aren't in chronological order but I thought I should post them.All of the characters staying in the hospital are between 11 and 17.





	1. I Taste Blood

**Author's Note:**

> TW: eating disorders, intrusive thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mental illness
> 
> This chapter is Lapis' POV.

Birds are crying outside my window. Every now and then they swoop into view. 

A murder of crows.

For the past two hours I’ve been fighting with myself, trying to get out of bed. I’ve been awake most of the night. Since four, at least. My dreams were full of intrusive thoughts. 

I smashed her skull in and drowned her in a hospital bath.

There’s a scuffle just out of sight, and a crow shrieks. 

I can smell blood.

 

Jasper is exhausting today. She keeps getting up from the table just to walk around. I sigh into my portioned breakfast. Staff count the calories and check that I’ve eaten it all. I make a point not to. 

Jasper’s eyes are wild and dark-circled. At least I’m not the only one who had a restless night. 

I chew on a piece of melon. 

I taste blood.

_It’s full of insects._

I force myself to swallow. 

When staff are distracted by smalltalk I slip my slice of toast onto Jasper’s plate. She says that bread is hard to throw up, you have to drink a lot of water. 

Staff finally get Jasper to sit back down. She eats like she’s starving. I would too if I burnt the energy she does. Her legs bounce the whole time.

They are still trying to get the right meds for her. 

 

Once Jasper bit a nurse who was trying take blood for a blood test. 

That nurse had a bandaged forearm for a week. And then a bruise for a week after. 

I called Jasper a _fucking psycho_ and she tried to get me too, but there were staff around and they grabbed her. They pinned her on the ground.

 

I have double vision. I want to go back to bed.

“‘Sup, Lappy,” Amethyst’s voice says. Then she’s standing beside me.

“Oh, hey,” I reply.

“Dude, you look spaced out.”

I laugh bitterly. “Yeah…I’m not really feeling being alive today.”

Amethyst groans, leaning her elbows on the table. “Same,” she says. Her eyes scan my uneaten breakfast. “Ah, fuck. I can’t steal your food. It’s like…special monitored shit.”

“It’s gross.” I say, stabbing a strawberry with my fork. “I’d let you have it if I could.”

I drop the strawberry back onto my plate and use the fork to squash it. Amethyst snorts. I mash the piece of fruit until it’s a smooth paste.

“Ha, gross.” I laugh.

“Why didn’t you you say hi to me?” 

Both Amethyst and I turn to Jasper. She looks upset, tearing pieces off the slice of toast I gave her.

“Amethyst,” she clarifies.

I put my head in my hands and groan.

“Man, I didn’t sleep ‘cause of you pacing the whole night,” Amethyst says. “I don’t gotta say hi. We were literally in the same room half an hour ago.”

I peer through my fingers. I’m too tired for this.

Jasper’s jaw is tight, her nose all red like when she cries. 

“Dude, it’s chill,” says Amethyst, patting a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. 

“It’s not!” Jasper cries. “You just came over and said ‘hi’ to Lapis. You hate me!”

Amethyst looks taken aback. 

“Hi,” she says. “There. I don’t hate you.” 

Jasper’s legs are bouncing so intensely that her feet make tapping noises on the linoleum. 

Amethyst is better at dealing with her than I am. I put my head back into my hands.

“Can you chill the fuck out for like, one second?” I mutter too loudly. They both hear me.

“Lapis…” Amethyst replies. “Not helping.”

“Fuck you!” Jasper shouts. “Fuck you, Lapis! You’re a _bitch_!” 

Staff surround our table because suddenly Jasper is pushing me and I’m falling. My back hits the ground, the chair I’d sat on clattering beside me.

Jasper is screaming at the nurses who are trying to take her away. Another nurse helps me up. Jasper looks at me and laughs like a fucking _crazy_ person. I stand, stunned, a nurse’s hand on my arm.

“Go purge, you ugly bitch,” I tell her. 

Each word tastes like bile. Regret settles in my throat.

I meet eyes with Amethyst. She stares, mouth open. 

_Shit shit shit._

The nurse who helped me up keeps me backed against the wall.

_You’re horrible. You’re horrible._

Jasper is wild-animal screaming. She fights the staff that surround her. Security rush in. They pin her on the floor. She thrashes like they’ll kill her. 

Everyone else is cleared from the room. Amethyst comforts Pearl who’s sobbing in the hallway, her routine interrupted. Steven is standing with them, sniffling. 

As I’m taken to my room I pray that he didn’t hear what I said. 


	2. I Went Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: psychosis, blood mention, death mention ...
> 
> !! This is in Jasper's POV !!

In therapy I have to play this game. It’s a list of things. They are in two categories, sometimes both at once: _Do I remember?_ and _Are they true or not?_ Sometimes I don’t know.

“Hello. How are you?” says my therapist.

“Hello,” I reply. I sit down on the chair opposite her, crossing my legs and uncrossing them again. I don’t know where my shoes are. They’ve been gone since breakfast, since I shoved Lapis. I hate her. She’s a bitch. I fucking hate her so much. 

“How are you?” 

_Oh._ I say, “I’m okay.” I’m exhausted, my eyes puffy from crying and my face all blotchy.

My therapist nods to herself. Then she starts, “What’s your name?”

“Jasper,” I say. 

“And can you tell me your birthday?”

“April 15th 2000. I’m 14.” 

My therapist nods. Those questions are the easiest. Obviously. 

The next two are: “What day is it?” and “Do you know what month and year it is?”

I don’t know what day it is, not the date or the name of the day. But I tell her, “It’s March and 2015.”

“What about the date and day of the week?”

I shake my head.

“You don’t know?”

“….No.” _Thursday? Or Saturday?_ It could be any day. I’m searching for clues but I spent the day alone in a room and kicking and screaming. _When was the last time dad visited? Visits are on the weekend but he didn’t come last time._

“It’s Tuesday,” Says my therapist. Then she asks, “Can you tell me where we are?” 

Another easy one.

“Hospital,” I say. “For crazy people— children.”

“A _children’s psychiatric ward_ ,” corrects my therapist. “Why are you here?”

I fucking hate that question. I was weak and stupid, and I tell myself, _I hate you I hate you I hate you_. I went fucking crazy.

“Jasper?”

I swallow hard. “‘Cause… I cut my arm. And tried to cut my dad. And he—” My throat hurts, all knotted and tight. I swallow again. My therapist waits for me to continue. “And I was running around all crazy on the farm so he called the cops. He said I’m a monster.”

I uncurl my fists and the indents from my nails are bright red. Almost bleeding. 

“Jasper, you aren’t a monster… and you aren’t _crazy_ ,” says my therapist. Her voice softens. “I want you to stop calling yourself crazy…We don’t use that word here, right?”

My head hurts. I nod. 

“Should we do some easier questions? And then I’d like to talk about this morning.”

I don’t want to talk about this morning. This morning makes my insides feel hot and rotten. While I was by myself, in the Quiet Room, I paced while no one was watching. Back and forth, like a thousand times. To try get rid of the rot. 

My therapist carries on. “Could you tell me a happy memory?” 

The door is near, just a couple strides away and I want to run to it. Get the fuck out. My head is heavy. My mother is my happy memories. I can barely remember now, she’s been gone so long. Seven years. Maybe. 

“My mom,” I say, quiet, staring at the carpet. It’s ugly and blue. “When I was six we went to the grand canyon —in Arizona— and I brought my tiger plush… and she carried me when I got to tired…She wore her pink floaty dress, like really light pink…like blush…We—”

I’m crying. Sobbing. She died. I’m scratching my arms, rocking forward on the chair.

“Someone murdered her,” I cry. “She got stabbed to death! And she— then she was gone!”

My therapist is pressing her lips together. My whole body is hot and trembling.

“Jasper,” she says, calm. “Jasper, breathe… Breathe.”

I take breaths like I’m told to. Inhale and hold it before I exhale. 

When I can breathe again my therapist picks up a clipboard and takes quick notes. 

She takes a deep breath and says, “Jasper…What you told me about your mother just then —about her being murdered— that… isn’t true. Do you remember what we talked about before?” 

It is true. I was eight and she died. She was on the ground, blood all over and stabbed to death, right in her stomach. I can see it. All the guts. My therapist furrows her eyebrows, creasing her forehead.

I don’t remember.

“No,” I say. “She— I _saw_ it.”

My eyes burn, teary again.

“Your mother wasn’t murdered, Jasper. She moved away. Do you remember anything else I told you about that?”

I shake my head.

“Okay,” says my therapist, noting down something. “Okay—”

“Can she come and get me?” I say before I can stop myself.

There’s a long pause and my therapist replies, “No, Jasper. We don’t know where she is…And I think you need to stay with us a little longer. So we can help you.”

But I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to fucking stay and I don’t want to talk about this morning or Lapis. I don’t want to remember or answer more questions or be in hospital. I get up to leave and my therapist can’t stop me. 

“Jasper, we aren’t finished—” she says.

“I don’t fucking care!” I shout. “You’re a _liar_! MAMMA’S _DEAD_!” I pull at my hair, knot my fingers in it, pressing my hands over my ears. “I DON’T WANT TO _FUCKING_ TALK ABOUT LAPIS!”

Staff are waiting outside the door for me, they come in when they hear me shouting. They take me back to the quiet room which is empty except for the bed. I curl up on the pale blue sheets. As the door closes I bite my hand. I try not to cry again. 

But it doesn’t work. 

And once I start I can’t stop. 

I sob and sob, my throat aching as I hold in each cry. My nose, my eyes run, dripping into my mouth, turning it salty. I choke on tears and mucus. Coughing, coughing. I twist the sheets in my fists, trembling, I hit the mattress over and over. 

I scream into the pillow —I scream and scream and scream and scream and scream— until the door opens. Staff rush in, maybe. There’s people here. Someone puts a hand on my back and mamma’s voice says something I don’t understand. 

_Is mamma here?_

I don’t know.

The hand rubs slow circles on my back.

“Breathe,” someone says. “In…and out…In…and out…”

They carry on as I breathe, as I calm.

When I can breathe the staff leave —“We’ll be right outside.”— I blow my nose on tissues they left and pull the thin duvet across my body. I pull my folded legs to my chest and sink my heavy head into the pillow. I keep breathing like I’m told, rocking slightly, until I fall asleep.


End file.
